


an honest man (a safe place to land)

by Japery



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2019 Stanley Cup Playoffs, 69 (Sex Position), And also a Liar, Gravy is a Bottom, Lots and Lots of Miscommunication, M/M, Miscommunication, Mistaken Identity, Secret Identity, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 11:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19130713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Japery/pseuds/Japery
Summary: The first thing Cale Makar learns about Ryan Graves is that he lies.





	an honest man (a safe place to land)

**Author's Note:**

> i don't claim to know and mean no harm to the people represented in this fic, if you found this by googling yourself or anyone you know, i'd advise you to click right on out of here.
> 
> i've wanted to write a fic about how ryan graves is a sweet boy who loves robbery and fraud ever since he was exposed after the match game and i ended up writing almost 14k about it. this takes place right before game three of the first round of the 18-19 stanley cup playoffs and follows it up to the end of the avs/sharks series.
> 
> thanks to [andi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleconnections/pseuds/littleconnections), [erica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alaspooryorick/pseuds/alaspooryorick), and [rach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/racheesi/pseuds/racheesi) for beta-ing, and ben platt's "an honest man," for the title.

The first thing Cale Makar learns about Ryan Graves is that he lies. 

The second thing Cale Makar learns about Ryan Graves is--

It’s midnight in a hotel in Denver, and it’s so quiet Cale feels like he’s about to vibrate right out of his skin. Forty-eight hours ago, Cale was lacing up in Buffalo for a chance to win the Frozen Four. He could’ve pictured it then, holding up that trophy, signing his contract, showing up here with everything he’d ever wanted—the perfect capstone to a perfect year. 

And now, he’s here, sans trophy, contract inked and signed. Rushing through three airports in two countries, only by the grace of how good his parents are and how good this organization is that they managed to figure it all out. His parents texted him a little while ago that they’d collected Taylor; they were on their third plane, now, in as many days, running back and forth between two countries for him. He could play five minutes before they realized he couldn’t even play a Frozen Four final without looking like a total joke out there, let alone an NHL playoff game. 

A notification on his phone reminds him his English class has an essay due, and Cale’s never going to finish it. He doesn’t even have the book. It’s sitting on his dorm bookshelf, an entire country away, and Cale’s probably never going to read it. 

He closes his eyes and rests his phone on his forehead. His stomach sinks down under the weight of possibility, and he doesn’t know whether he wants to scream or run or both. 

Cale springs up like a livewire, shoving his wallet and the hotel keycard in his hoodie pocket. They gave him an Avalanche hoodie, but he’s still wearing the UMass. He leaves his phone on the bed, and he should charge it, but he doesn’t bother. 

The hallways are quiet and empty, the only sound the buzzing of the fluorescent light above him seeping their way under his skin. He wanders for a while, taking quick, hurried steps like he’s actually got somewhere to go. A sign glints on the corner, pointing him towards the ice machine. 

It takes a hotel key to get in, and Cale’s sure the ice room is just as deserted as the rest of the hotel, so he pushes the door open aimlessly and marches right into a warm, solid chest. 

“Whoa,” comes a voice, deep and husky in a way that makes it seem like it’s a little unsure how deep and husky it actually wants to be. A warm hand settles comfortably on Cale’s shoulder. “Someone’s a bit eager, huh?” Cale looks up, and up a little more, and he thinks it has to be a stress hallucination because there’s no way he’s just run into a 1930s movie star in the middle of a hotel in Denver.

The man is impossibly tall with fair, marbled skin, hair combed back in a perfectly styled coif except for one single strand of hair falling artfully on his forehead. He’s got the sallow, carved out cheekbones of a WWI soldier from a history textbook that the caption told him would die of tuberculosis in the trenches, and thick black-framed glasses resting on the edge of his nose. His lips dart out over thin, perfectly red lips, dusted over with crumbs from some kind of pastry. Cale glances over at the man’s other hand, where he’s holding a little honey bun straight from a vending machine and half out of its packaging. He’ll taste like honey, then. It’s infuriatingly appropriate that this man would taste like honey.

“Sorry,” Cale breaths out, and the stranger smiles at him in a way that makes Cale feel like he’s the only other person in the world, that it’s just him in this hallway in this beautiful stranger and nothing else. It’s terrifying, the weight of that smile. 

“S’okay.” The stranger says, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. His eyes widen, suddenly, like he realizes he’s touching Cale, and he pulls his hand away, Cale’s shoulder tingling at the absence of him. He shoves his hand into the pocket of his grey sweatpants, holding it there awkwardly like he has no idea what to do with it. “Excited for a midnight snack?” He jokes, giving him another, more watery smile. 

“No, I just—” Cale starts, shaking his head. His shoulder feels light and empty from the lack of weight. “Cale.” He introduces himself, holding his hand out for a handshake.

The stranger’s eyes widen again. “Kale?” He repeats. “You’re trying to find kale in a hotel vending machine?”

Cale blinks, and chuckles. “No, Cale is my name. C-a-l-e. For the person, not the vegetable.” He holds his hand out again, and the stranger takes it, and his handshake lingers. 

“Oh,” The man says, his thumb hooked over his wrist to brush over Cale’s pulse point as he pulls his hand away. He pauses, like he’s trying to figure out what to say. “I’m Ryan. R-y-a-n. I’m not a vegetable either.”

“No, you don’t really look like a vegetable,” Cale says, smiling a little. Ryan’s hand crinkles around the packaging for his honey bun. 

“What do I look like?” Ryan asks softly. 

Cale wants to say: one of those hyperrealistic Renaissance statues where you could see the abs through marble mimicking sheer cloth, a painting of a guy the artist had a special relationship with that died in a lake while they were students at Oxford, Clark Kent but with better dimples. 

“I don’t know, like a nerd.” Cale says instead, stupidly. Ryan raises one perfectly symmetrical eyebrow. “You’re probably up late doing cool software Silicon Valley stuff for work, designing apps that can save the world.” Cale can tell he’s blushing, has been blushing from the warmth around his ears. 

“Something like that.” Ryan says thoughtfully. “I do stay here for work.” He pauses, and gives Cale a sheepish smile. “I have an app, for horoscopes. I’m a Gemini. And you’re a…” Cale scrunches his forehead, ready to volunteer that he thinks he’s a Scorpio when Ryan says it instead. “Yeah, I thought so.” 

“You figured that out, just from this?” Cale’s eyes widen, staring at Ryan reverently. Ryan just shrugs. 

“I read them a lot, in the newspaper.” He says. 

Cale furrows his brow. “Then what’s the app for?” He asks. Ryan shakes his head, the curl on his forehead shifting with it in a way that’s just a little maddening. 

“It’s boring stuff, nothing you’d want to hear about at 2 am.” Ryan explains, in a way that’s more sincere than condescending, although it definitely could be coming from anyone else. 

“You could try me.” Cale says, a little too eager. “I’d love for you to tell me my horoscope.” Ryan stiffens, and Cale worries if he’s come on too strong, like of course this walking Baroque painting had a girlfriend or at least could do better than twenty year olds named after vegetables whose ears were definitely turning bright red right now in this hotel hallway. 

“I should go.” Ryan says, and Cale’s heart sinks into the gnawing void in his stomach. “Maybe I’ll see you in the morning.” Cale nods, and lets Ryan brush past him and hurry down the hallway. Cale steals a glance as he goes, and of course even his ass is perfectly molded as he walks away. 

Cale pushes all the way into the ice room, groaning mournfully. Cale locks the image of Ryan away, content in the fact that he’d never see him again but got enough to jack off over his smile for the next few weeks at least, breathes out through his nose, and shakes his head. He should probably do what he came here to do.

Without any further preamble, Cale marches over to the ice machine, looks at the platform where the ice comes out and the cheery blue button above it, and sticks his head under the ice dispenser. He punches the button harder than he should, and lets ice cascade over the side of his head and some down his shirt, the cool sting of it and the groaning of the ice machine chasing away all the buzzing anxiety in his head. 

Suddenly, there’s a noise behind him, and the door opens. 

“Uh.” Ryan says, and Cale springs up, ice tumbling over his shoulders and onto the floor, sliding unpleasantly down his shirt to catch in the folds, and he smacks his head ungracefully on the top of the ice dispenser. 

“Ow.” Cale says, slumping down onto the floor with his back against the ice machine. The sting of him hitting his head wasn’t what hurt more than embarrassing himself in front of someone who looked like they belonged on the runway of New York Fashion Week wearing fashion pajamas or whatever the new couture was. 

Ryan peers down at him with wide-eyed concern, and of course he looks even taller from down on the floor, without even the decency of looking judgmental. “Are you alright? Um, I’d offer you some ice, but—” Ryan waves towards Cale’s entire pitiful situation as an ice cube sloughs off his shoulder and onto the floor. “Doesn’t look like you need that.” Cale closes his eyes to quiet the shame. 

There’s a warm hand on shoulder, prodding him up, and when Cale opens his eyes he finds a warmer smile.

Cale blinks at him, as if his bright eyes might vanish. He blinks twice, and they don’t. “What are you doing back here?” He asks, taking Ryan’s proffered hand just to slump his back against the ice machine as he stands. 

Ryan shrugs, small for his size. “I came in here to get a drink and forgot about it.” 

Cale stares at his big, empty hands, peers over Ryan’s shoulder to scan the counter, empty of anything except strewn coffee cups and crumbs. “I don’t see any drinks.” Ryan nudges a shoulder towards the vending machine on the other end of the ice room. Cale feels a little stupid. He shifts a little, and an ice cube slides off his back onto the floor. He feels a little stupider. 

Ryan edges around him, carefully stepping over the fallen ice towards the vending machine. Cale turns away, bringing a hand to the dull ache at his temple. He wants to sink into the floor, the puddle he made because he can’t help making a mess of things in a hotel ice machine or the final game of the Frozen Four. There’s a rumbling from the machine, and Ryan cranes over to pull out his drink. Cale decides to look up and take the simple pleasure of watching him go. 

Instead of leaving, Ryan brushes some ice aside with his shoe, and slides up against the ice machine next to him. The space between them is inches between infinity, a gulf of possibility to displace the void yawning in Cale’s chest. A cold creeps into his fingertips, and Cale realizes Ryan is pressing a soda can into his hand. 

“They only had coconut.” Ryan says, a little apologetically. Cale lifts up the can to inspect it, and stares past Ryan towards the vending machine. Of course Denver has a La Croix vending machine in their hotel. He smiles in spite of himself, sharing it with the stranger next to him.

“Thanks, dude.” Cale says, leaning back and forth on his heels, moving a hair’s width closer with every sway. The mortification melts away, replaced with the anxiety of opportunity, the buzzing call of the world muted only by the smile of a stranger trying not to spill coconut La Croix on himself. 

“I don’t really know what’s going on with you. I think I know—” Ryan starts, bunching his free hand around the hem of his shirt, before he stops himself. “I can listen.” He finishes instead. Ryan’s sweet, Cale notes. Impossibly sweet for a stranger. He’ll taste like honey, he remembers. “Whatever you want—”

Cale’s a polite Canadian boy. It’s easier that way, being accommodating and unassuming, the nice Makar boy who’s going off to make it big. He’s an anchor on the blue line, a fixed point, something to build around. He’s the most collegiate of the collegiate, the Hobey Baker winner far before it was ever a contest—never mind the fact that he’s got an English class he’ll never finish and a group project he won’t ever do, a semester traded away for an NHL contract. 

He’s in a city where tomorrow, everyone will know his name, or no one will. He’s standing on the precipice of everything, teetering on his heels in a city a mile high and a country or two wide from everything he knows. He’s standing next to the most beautiful man he’s ever met, the brush of their fingertips bridging inches that felt like eternity. He can have everything he’s ever wanted, in an instant, and it’s terrifying.

In an instant, Cale wants, and it’s terrifying. 

He reaches up to run a thumb over Ryan’s jaw and pulls him down to kiss him. 

Ryan tastes like honey, and coconut La Croix. 

“All right,” Ryan murmurs against his lips, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck. “I can do this too.” He says, and he does. Ryan kisses carefully, methodically, like he’s mapping out every line and seam of Cale’s mouth. He pins Cale’s thigh against the ice machine with his hip, steady and solid. 

Cale doesn’t normally kiss strange boys in hotels, except at World Juniors, when things like that were just kind of the norm. But when Ryan kisses him, this awkwardly beautiful boy as strange as he is sweet, the Avalanche falls away. Ryan kisses him breathless, but for the first time since he touched down in Denver, Cale feels like he can finally breathe.

// 

Cale doesn’t quite muster up the words to invite Ryan to his room, but Ryan lets him lead him by the fingertips anyway. He pushes Ryan onto the bed—Ryan looks a little surprised at how easily Cale can do that. Cale smirks a little, impossibly pleased. Ryan sprawls out on the starch white sheets, all long limbs and dark eyelashes fluttering at him skittishly. 

“I really want to suck your dick, dude.” Cale tells him honestly. 

“Oh, gosh.” Ryan says, eyes widening. “That’d sure be swell.” He says with all the gusto of a 1930s radio announcer, and Cale snorts.

“You are not a real person.” Cale mutters, fondly, and he kind of wants to like, hold his hand a little, but he’ll settle for sucking his dick first. He runs a hand through his hair and finally shrugs off his shirt, still wet with melted ice in places. Ryan pulls off his own shirt, revealing a respectable set of abs for a time traveler who showed up to inhabit the form of a giant app developer, or whatever Ryan was. 

Ryan hesitates, a little, to get his pants off, so Cale has to crawl between his endlessly long legs and take them off himself. Ryan blushes slightly as he does, and Cale marvels for a second about how he’s finally found a guy who’s worse at controlling his blushes than he is. His dick is proportionally long, and just as pretty in the moonlight as the rest of him. 

Cale wants to get his mouth on it, so he does. 

He licks up and down Ryan’s cock, reveling in the feeling of Ryan’s wide-eyed gaze watching him as he pops the head into his mouth and swallows down as far as he can, which amounts to about halfway. The weight of Ryan’s cock hits heavy against the back of his throat, letting a relaxing fog wash over him to settle his thoughts. He sets his hand on Ryan’s thigh to steady himself, his pale skin red where his fingers touch. Ryan’s hand nestles in Cale’s hair guiding him through it carefully. Cale’s sucked a dick before, once or twice, but never one quite as big as Ryan’s. Still, he’s feeling punchy, ambitious.

He takes a deep breath, balling up one hand into a fist, just like all the YouTube videos said he should, and takes Ryan’s cock down his throat all the way down to the base. Ryan makes a strangled, surprised noise, a warning Cale promptly ignores, and Cale’s pleased hum is enough to send him over the edge, flooding the back of Cale’s throat with his come. Cale pulls off, coughing a little, and wipes his mouth with his arm. He beams at Ryan, a little smug. Cale Makar could finish this, at least. “Swell.” Cale says, voice hoarse, and Ryan scrambles over himself to kiss him. 

He groans against Cale, snaking one big hand down his shorts to pull them down and bringing another to wrap around his cock, pulling at him feverishly as he rains kisses down over Cale’s jaw and neck. Cale bucks up into Ryan’s grip, wrapping an arm around his shoulder for purchase. Ryan takes him apart with his fingers, one hand a vice around his cock and the other—Ryan rests two fingers on Cale’s thigh, stretching him open just enough to pet curiously at his hole with his thumb.

Cale tenses a little, and pulls off. “Bro, I uh, I’ve never—” He’s turning bright red now, and Ryan’s eyes are wide again. “I thought I’d top.” Cale finishes, and Ryan looks at him for a second, and he kind of looks a little relieved. 

“Usually, with how big I am,” Ryan starts, and Cale stops him, considering for a moment. 

“I mean, I’m probably gonna want that in me. Eventually.” Cale admits. He doesn’t know if there’ll be an eventually, depending on how long Ryan is in Denver, but he wants there to be. “But I’ve got like, somewhere to be tomorrow, and I kind of want to be able to walk for it.” He wonders if Bednar would consider soreness from getting dicked down by a guy he just met a lower body injury. 

“That makes sense,” Ryan says, something faraway in his voice. “It’s just that most people assume, I’m so tall and everything. That I—” He seems a little embarrassed to say it. 

“That you wouldn’t want to get fucked?” Cale finishes for him. He nudges Ryan’s shoulder with his knuckles. “Man, with an ass like that it’d be a waste not to.” Ryan blushes again, and Cale leans over to kiss him. 

Cale flops off the side of the bed to fish the lube and condoms he’d brought out of his luggage, haphazardly buried under an Avalanche hoodie. When he turns back around, Ryan has his fingers, wet with his own spit, prodding at his own hole with dogged determination. His hole is just as pretty as Cale would think, and Ryan is trying his darnedest to fuck himself open. 

“Someone’s a bit eager, huh?” Cale echoes, and Ryan looks up at him, nestled knuckle deep in his own ass. 

“Gotta be.” Ryan says. “Before you figure—before you change your mind.” He grits out between this teeth, a little stricken as he works another into himself. 

Cale raises an eyebrow, taking in the sight of Ryan, errant curls plastered to his forehead, squirming on his own fingers for him. “Don’t think I’m gonna change my mind, dude.” Cale says, leaning down to place a kiss on Ryan’s wrist. He laces his hand around to guide Ryan’s fingers out, fingertips just catching on the rim before he flicks open the lube and laves Ryan’s hand and hole and pushes Ryan’s fingers back into him, savoring the hitch in Ryan’s breath as he establishes a rhythm, fucking Ryan open with his own fingers. 

Ryan’s hole shines with lube, and Cale licks his lips. He moves Ryan’s hand away and cranes down to replace it with his tongue. The lube is supposedly pineapple flavored, but it’s really just a little weird and tacky, but it tingles as he licks into Ryan. 

Ryan groans, scrambling at the sheets for purchase as Cale licks him open. Cale slicks up his own fingers, running his thumb in circles over Ryan’s hole between laps of his tongue. He slips the tip of his thumb and his forefinger into Ryan and spreads them out in a triangle to stretch him open, darting his tongue in between them to plunge deeper into Ryan. 

Ryan keens underneath him, a mess of skittish limbs and desperate angles. “Please, Cale, please!” He begs, arching his hips up against Cale for more, and Cale decides he’s ready. 

Cale slips on the condom in a smoother motion than he’s used to, knee-walking over the bed to position the head of his cock to slide over the rim of Ryan’s hole. He goes slowly at first, inching his way inside, before Ryan wraps his hands around to pull at his hips impatiently. Cale plunges into Ryan as Ryan bucks down, and it doesn’t take long for Cale to be fully inside of him. Ryan is tight, tighter than Cale thought he would be, his breath coming down in short, shallow gasps as he arches his hips, desperate for friction. 

Ryan is a mess, needy and wanting, but either unsure or unable to get out exactly what he wanted, opting instead to push his hips down urgently every time Cale draws his dick out of him. Cale leans over to kiss him calm, wrapping an arm around his once-again hard cock to stroke him slowly in time with his thrusts. 

Ryan moans against his mouth, and slams his hips flush against Cale’s grabby hands pulling him in as deep as he can go, and it doesn’t take long before he comes all over Cale’s fist, streaking over Cale’s arm. Ryan pulses around him, and Cale can’t withstand it and finishes inside him, filling the condom up with his first load of the night. 

Cale pulls out of him, messy, despite Ryan making a noise of objection, and ties the condom off to chuck it in the wastebasket. He grabs the hotel towel as he goes to wipe Ryan’s come off his arm, from where it streaked over his elbow, and throws it at Ryan back in the bed before slumping on top of him himself. 

“I’m on your team.” Ryan murmurs inscrutably, long limbs draped over Cale’s shoulder. It’s weirdly encouraging, for a guy Cale barely knows, but it really makes Cale want to kiss him. 

“I’m on your team too, bro.” Cale says, so fond he wants to burst, and he kisses the confused look off Ryan’s face. 

//

When Cale wakes up there’s a note on his table, written in the hotel stationary, pinned under Cale’s unopened can of La Croix, which is definitely warm now.

 _Sorry, had to go in early. See you later. :) - R._

Ryan’s scrawled a number underneath, presumably his phone number, and Cale barely has time to save it to his phone when there’s a knock on his door. 

Gabe Landeskog’s waiting on the other end, wearing an expensive looking sweater and a pair of designer sunglasses, and holding a hastily made sign on the back of a kids’ menu placemat with Cale’s name written in crayon. There’s another name written on the bottom, though it looks like Gabe’s crossed that one out. 

“Welcome to Denver!” Gabe says, beaming at him with all the boundless energy and enthusiasm of a golden retriever. “Sleep well?” Gabe asks, raising one nearly invisible eyebrow, and that’s when Cale realizes he’s still in his underwear, and he’s got Ryan’s third load of the night dried over his stomach. 

Gabe lets himself in, opting to sit in the armchair instead of the bed while Cale gets showered and dressed. Ryan cleaned up after himself a little before he left, but Cale’s still painfully aware it looks like he’d either gotten laid or had a hell of a jerk-off session last night, and he’s not sure which one is more flattering to his new captain.

Thankfully, Gabe doesn’t mention it, choosing instead to talk to him about the team and how excited they are Cale is here. “I was going to pick up the others too, but it looks like Gravy went on ahead and Brass is still throwing up, so it’s just us today.” Gabe tells him cheerfully, despite the fact that those names mean nothing to Cale. It’s all coming back to Cale now, that anxious gnawing at the edges of his soul, the weighty fact that his old team is back all the way across the country, sans trophy, and he’s got a new one here and he doesn’t know anybody on it. “How are you feeling, really?” Gabe asks, leveling a look at him from over his sunglasses. 

“I’m doing fine.” Cale lies, flashing Gabe his best smile. “How ‘bout you?” 

//

The Pepsi Center locker room is supposed to be where Cale’s meant to meet his team, but he’s never felt more like a stranger.

Josty is at least a familiar face, besides all the cameras, but it’s Josty’s roommate JT who offers to give Cale a tour of the locker room. 

“These are the best people you will ever meet,” JT says, sweeping an arm over where his two roommates are bickering heatedly about something. 

“They’re thicker, Jost, even if you can’t tell they’re green—” Kerfy is saying, making a cylindrical shape with his hands. 

“Oh, throwing the color blindness at me, wow!” Josty exclaims dramatically, throwing his hands up in the air. 

Kerfy rolls his eyes. “You’re not actually blind! You can read P-L-A vs. B-A-N right? Right?” He looks at JT who looks steadfast in his refusal to help either of them. 

“I don’t understand why you can’t just make it with the weird bananas!” 

Kerfy sucks in a breath through his teeth and runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t make _banana bread_ with _plantains._ That’s a bad bake, Mary. They’re _thicker_ —” 

“I’ll show you thicker!” Josty says, grabbing his crotch and waving it in circles. JT clears his throat, and steers Cale towards their stalls on the other side. 

“Sorry, did I say best? I meant worst. They’re the worst people you’ll ever meet.” JT tells him, and Cale can’t tell if he’s pained or fond. He glances at the neat, empty stall next to Cale’s. “Oh, besides Gravy, don’t trust Gravy.” 

“Gravy?” Cale asks. Gabe had mentioned that name earlier, he remembered. The nameplate on the stall says Graves, Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, which makes a certain amount of sense. 

“Big deer eyes, kind of looks like a vampire.” JT explains. “He’s nice enough, but you shouldn’t trust him.” 

“Gravy lies!” Kerfy chimes in from over JT’s shoulder, interrupting his argument with Josty. “Don’t buy into his snake oil Makar, Gravy’s a sneak and fraud who lies for fun.” 

Now it’s Josty’s turn to roll his eyes. “Don’t listen to them, they’re just bitter because they lost a game show to him.” He explains. 

“Only barely,” JT says, at the same time as Kerf says, “Because of all the lying!” 

Josty sidles up to him, hip bumping him companionably while the other two are distracted. “Gravy’s cool, he’s just a little shy. You’ll meet him soon, I think he’s talking to the trainers about something.” He beams at Cale, all bright, bouncy curls. “He’s kind of your type.” With that, Josty bounds away to resume the banana argument with both roommates now.

Cale files the information away, and shakes his head. Unless Gravy turns out to be the tall, dark and handsome tech nerd he’d fucked into the mattress last night, Cale’s not interested at the moment. Anyway, he’s got a game to play. 

// 

By the time warm-ups come around, Cale has pretty much met everyone on the team, including most of the scratches. Sammy was a surprise of a familiar face, giving him a deep, affectionate hug that Cale thinks was mostly to show off how much he’d bulked up since the showcase, injured or not, and Barrie and Johnson seemed to be duking it out for whoever got the chance to be his mentor. The only ones he hadn’t managed to meet were Brassard—who EJ explained had caught the flu, because the good lord didn’t give him the sense to match his looks which he implied was still more than Barrie got, and Cale had lost track of them both in the ensuing wrestling match—and Gravy, who he just seemed to keep missing, and was scratched so he couldn’t even meet him on the ice. 

Before they’re meant to stow their phones for the game, Cale gets a text from Ryan. 

_Ryan: Good luck out there! :)_

_Cale: you know who i am???_

_Ryan: There’s not a lot of Cales in Denver. I googled ;P_

_Cale: are you going to watch?_

Ryan halts in replying, and Cale watches the little dots come up and disappear after a second. 

_Ryan: Score a goal for me <3_

Cale stares at the heart, typed out instead of an emoji, like all of Ryan’s expressions, and smiles lightly to himself. The moment passes quickly, however, as Barrie claps a hand over his back. 

“Phone away, rookie.” Barrie warns, without much edge to his voice. “You’ll have plenty of sexts to check after the game.” Cale colors red, and Barrie snorts, smiling at him broadly. 

It’s probably stupid for Cale not to be worried that the random guy he’d picked up at his hotel knew exactly who he was, but in spite of himself, he trusts Ryan. He thinks about Ryan, in his hotel room, watching Cale’s first game on his laptop. He wants to give him a show. He wants to score for him, Cale decides. He wants to score for him, and his parents, and everyone else in his corner. 

He wants to score for them. So he does. 

It slides in past Smith, and the Pepsi Center explodes. Gabe sweeps him up and screams in his ear, someone splashes him with a water bottle in the high-five line. Water drips from Cale’s jaw, and disappears into the ice, and Cale lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

// 

A game like that, a goal like that, Cale can’t get out of celebrating with the team. The bar slaps a stamp on his hand to keep him from drinking, but he might prefer that just to be sober while the rest of the team gets increasingly drunk and affectionate. 

Barrie has stolen Gabe’s sunglasses from this morning, wearing them as goggles as he and EJ try to outdrink each other. Currently, Cale thinks Grubi is winning. 

Gabe, for his part, is loudly complaining about how Tyson wants nachos as a thin smokescreen to complain about how much he actually wants nachos. Cale, being a good rookie, ducks a dance from Big Z to head towards the bar. Absentmindedly, he thinks about texting Ryan and how early is too early to leave his own first goal party to get laid, when he almost runs into someone. 

“I’d say we’ve got to stop meeting like this, but I don’t really mind.” Comes a familiar, soft voice, and Cale looks up to see Ryan, holding two drinks, what looks like straight whiskey, and something more fruity. He’s wearing a smart, dark suit, his glasses glint in the strobe lights of the dance floor. He looks a little flushed, as if he’s a couple drinks in already. 

“Ryan, what’re you doing here?” Cale asks, more thankful he’s here than anything else. 

“You could call it a work thing.” Ryan says, and Cale follows his gaze to track a group of yuppies trying to make a pyramid out of shot glasses in a corner booth next to Barbs and some of the other scratches.

“Oh, are those drinks for your friends?” Cale asks. One of the yuppies knocks the pyramid over and they all start squawking at each other. “I can go with you if you need to drop them off.”

“Nope, they’re both mine.” Ryan says hurriedly. Cale raises an eyebrow at the whiskey versus the margarita. “I contain multitudes.” Ryan explains. “Did you want one?” 

“I can’t drink.” Cale reminds him. Ryan shrugs, and downs the whiskey in one shot. Some of it shines over the seam of his lip, and Cale kind of wants to lick it off. 

Without missing a beat, Ryan starts to drink the margarita, gulping it down faster than it seems advisable. He downs most of it, enough to set both glasses back down on the bar. “I saw your goal. It was real swell.” Ryan’s voice is a little slurred, a little less careful. He’s swaying back and forth on his heels, trying to catch himself against the bar. Cale grabs a napkin from the bar to clean up a spot of blue ice on his chin. 

“You’re so fucking weird.” Cale says, reverently. He wraps a hand around Ryan’s hip to steady him. Ryan smiles at him, bright and wide. “I think I’ve got to take you home.” 

“I live in a hotel.” Ryan admits. “It’s kind of sucked, until last night.” Cale files that information away, and tries to herd the big man towards the door. Josty catches his eye from across the dancefloor, raising an eyebrow at him. Cale points to Ryan, who is stumbling over his shoes, and Josty gives him a peace sign, and then cups his hand into a circle and starts making a blowjob motion. Cale rolls his eyes, and pulls out his phone to call a Lyft. 

Ryan drapes over him as soon as they get into the car, nuzzling kisses against the nape of his neck. “Gosh, you looked so good out there tonight, I wish I could’ve been down there with you.” Ryan murmurs, glasses askew as he runs a hand under Cale’s shirt. Cale wonders how much work Ryan could’ve been getting done watching the game.

“I’ll get you a ticket, babe.” Cale whispers, laying a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. He’d used his will call tickets on his family for the next game in the Pepsi Center, but the one after that—in the second round, Cale almost thinks. Ryan laughs against him, warm, although there’s something odd about it. 

It isn’t a long ride to the hotel, and Cale shepherds him into the lobby. Ryan’s not as heavy as he looks, though part of that is that Cale is stronger than he looks—either way, Ryan looks pleased with it. Cale asks if Ryan would rather go to his room than Cale’s and Ryan has some trouble producing his keycard in all the pockets of his suit, so Cale figures he’d take the easier route. 

Just outside Cale’s room, Ryan gets a hand on his shoulder and swings him around, pushing him against the wall to kiss him. The kiss is a little sloppy, but still searing, Ryan’s lips warm against his mouth. “You were so good.” Ryan says, voice husky with longing. “You’re too good.” 

Cale murmurs against him, running his hands over his back. “You’re good too, dude.” Cale says. “You’re on my team, remember?” He says and Ryan laughs again. 

“Yeah. Yeah I am.” Ryan breathes out, giggling erratically. He pulls away, and runs a hand through his hair. He opens his mouth, like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, instead leaning back to let Cale open the room up. 

The maids had been through Cale’s room, and it looks pristine from how it was this morning. Cale can’t wait to mess it up again. 

“Come here before you choke yourself.” Cale sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him leaning down to undo the tie knot. When he does, Ryan steals another kiss. 

“Gotcha.” He says, giggling against Cale’s mouth, before drawing away and pecking another kiss into the corner of his mouth. “Gotcha twice.” 

Cale undoes Ryan’s tie completely, letting the two ends hang around each side of his neck. Cale rolls his eyes and pulls Ryan into a deeper kiss, holding an end of the tie in each hand. Cale kisses him long and heavy, with every scrap of thankfulness he has for tonight. “Gotcha,” Cale shoots back, and Ryan looks up at him breathless. 

“I know I’m a little drunk.” Ryan says, and Cale raises an eyebrow. “But I’m sober enough to know I want to have sex again tonight.” Ryan looks sincere and determined, cheeks a little rosy in the moonlight. 

“Are you sure?” Cale asks, laying one hand on Ryan’s thigh and squeezing reassuringly. “We can just cuddle. I’d be down to cuddle. Cuddling’s dope.” 

“Cuddling is dope.” Ryan echoes, though it sounds a little foreign on his tongue. “But—” he shakes his head, guiding Cale’s hand up his thigh to press his palm against his obviously hardening cock through his suit pants. “I want to suck you this time, or you suck me again, or whatever. While we can.” Ryan seems set on it, and Cale’s not too inclined to refuse him. 

He helps Ryan out of the rest of his clothes, chucking off his shoes, his tight, tailored pants. The blazer ends up on top of the armchair and the shirt ends up hooked to the headboard. Ryan wants to help get his clothes off, but Cale’s a little impatient so he throws them towards his luggage with little fanfare. 

“We can do both.” Cale says cheerily, and when Ryan looks confused, Cale sets upon crawling over him, legs over Ryan’s shoulders, elbows bracketing his hips. Cale’s never actually done this before, but he’s seen it in porn, so he thinks he has a pretty good angle on how it works. He wraps his hand around the base of Ryan’s cock, holding it steady so he can lick over the shaft and head. 

“Oh,” Ryan says, voice breathy. Cale feels his hands move, one to brace Cale’s leg and the other to guide his cock into the warm, hot cavern of his mouth.

In porn, it seems a lot easier to maintain a rhythm when someone is sucking your dick, especially when you’re the one working against gravity and the dick is as big as Ryan’s, who keeps giggling over Cale’s cock for no reason, brushing his fingers in a tremulous tickle over Cale’s thighs. Still, Cale gives it his level best. 

He pushes his mouth up to swallow Ryan’s cock, pushing up with the palm of his hand against the bedspread, bracing his thumb to leave marks against the outside of Ryan’s thigh. Ryan makes a low, appreciative hum against Cale’s cock that makes Cale sink his hips down low into the comforting warmth of Ryan’s mouth.

Cale fucks into Ryan’s mouth with eager, shallow thrusts, Ryan matching him with enthusiasm if nothing else, lapping at the underside of his cock with the tongue in a way that gets Cale gripping hard against the bedsheets. He has to slow in sucking Ryan, letting his cock just rest against the side of his face, warm and heavy as he succumbs to the relentless pace of Ryan’s mouth. 

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come.” Cale starts, and Ryan speeds up his pace, steady and purposeful. He hollows out the cavern of his mouth and inhales around Cale’s cock, and that’s enough. Cale’s hand tightens around Ryan’s thigh as he collapses from the weight of his orgasm, shooting halfway into Ryan’s mouth as Ryan swiftly pulls off, Cale’s cock smacking over the side of Ryan’s face and undoubtedly leaving a trail of his come over his pretty features. 

Cale can’t wait to see, but he has a job to do. 

He sets back on Ryan’s cock, twists his lips over the head as he swallows back down. He roves his mouth over him, letting Ryan arch his hips up as he sucks in his abdomen tight, letting his throat relax as he eases Ryan’s cock down to the base. Cale stays there for a few seconds, appreciating the weightless feeling of being full up with Ryan again, before flexing his throat and humming just like he knows Ryan likes. 

“Cale, that’s it, I’m there, c’mon.” Ryan says, and for a second Cale considers pulling off to let Ryan give him a matching facial, but he’s selfish enough to savor the feeling of Ryan coming down his throat again. Ryan bucks up against him, shuddering the whole bed as he comes, and he fills up Cale’s throat. Cale swallows it handily, and licks the sensitive head of Ryan’s cock clean before he pulls off, rolling over to look at Ryan. 

His cheeks are rosy with exertion, but his smile is pleased and placid. Cale’s come shines over the sharp lines of his cheekbones, pearling over the bridge of his nose, and mixes in with his hair. There’s even some glistening in his eyelashes. 

“You’re beautiful, man.” Cale breathes out, and Ryan smiles at him. 

“I know.” He says softly, and Cale rolls his eyes before he kisses him. 

He cleans Ryan up, and insists on cuddling after, because cuddling is, in fact, pretty dope. 

It’s not so hard to wrap an arm around Ryan’s shoulders and press his hips flush against his ass. He makes a pretty good little spoon, despite being several inches taller than Cale, and they find a comfortable position in a nest of hotel pillows. 

“Hey,” Cale says, nuzzling into the nape of Ryan’s neck. Ryan murmurs at him sleepily. “What’s the difference between a banana and a plantain?”

“Bananas used to be different in the 30s.” Ryan responds, with a yawn. “Then they all got wiped out in a plague, and now we all eat gross, lesser bananas.” 

“No shit?” Cale asks, all wonderment. 

“No shoot.” Ryan says. “Wanna sleep, Cale.” He burrows more into Cale’s grip, and pulls a pillow closer. “Got a game tomorrow.” 

Cale presses a soft kiss to the back of Ryan’s neck, and lets him sleep. 

// 

Ryan is gone by the time Cale has to wake up for morning skate, his bed empty and cold where he’s left, and there’s another note on his bedside table. 

Cale slips it into his wallet next to the other one and shakes his head. One of these days he’ll get Ryan to stay in the morning. He has a distinct urge to make him eggs, not that Cale’s all that good at eggs, but even if he’s bad he doesn’t think Ryan would mind. Maybe when Cale has a place here in Denver, instead of just this hotel room, Ryan’ll stay for the eggs. 

He’s got some texts from the team: Sammy filling him in on everything he’d missed when he left, Barbs complaining about Gravy in the groupchat, and a text from Josty that makes no sense. 

_Josty: u and gravy rly tore it up last night_ 😛😛🍆💦

 _Cale:_ 😕 _i still havent met gravy_

_Josty:_ 🤔🤔🤔 _r u tryin 2 secret_ 🕵️♂️

 _Cale:_ 🙄

 _Josty: i saw u 2 goin 2 smash_ 👀👀🕵️♂️

 _Cale: that wasn’t gravy that was_

Cale stops, and considers. He’s known Ryan for two days, generously. They haven’t like, talked about it. It’d be a weird conversation to have with a guy you hooked up with in the ice room of your hotel, but—Cale’s an NHL defenseman. He’s an NHL goal scorer on an NHL contract with an NHL playoff team. He knows he shouldn’t, he knows it’s way too early. But he wants. His chest wells deep with want, overflowing at the edges. Cale wants to wake up with Ryan at his side every morning, wants to see him in the stands watching him play. Cale wants, and wants, and wants-- 

_Cale: that was my boyfriend_

_Josty:_ 😮 

_Josty: dude i thot u were just smashing box_ 🍑😛 

_Josty: i didnt know u were smashing hearts_ 💖💖💕💞

 _Josty: ill keep ur secrets bro_ 😉😉🤐🤐

Tyson Jost is probably the weirdest person Cale knows, but he’s beginning to think every person on this team might be fighting for that title. 

// 

They come out of the second 1-0, off a fluky goal that bounces in off Nemo’s shoulder like a brand marked scarlet. The rest of the team is furious and the crowd isn’t much better, watching highlights of shot after shot glancing off of Smith’s blocker, landing in his glove, keeping out of the net by every grace of the Hockey Gods. 

The Pepsi Center is starving, spoiled by feast to scream helplessly at famine. They scream, they shout, they scream for blood and glory. They scream, and they scream for them. They want, and Cale knows better than most what it is to want.

“Hey,” JT says, settling down next to him in the locker room. “Did you see that girl dancing with the kale?” 

Cale sputters on his Gatorade. “No shit?” 

“No shit.” JT smiles over his beard, his eyes wrinkling at the corners, and punches his shoulder gently. “Wish someone would dance with a vegetable named after me.” 

Cale beams at him. “Gotta give ‘em a reason to, bro.” 

JT laughs, just as Kerfy pops up with “There’s no vegetable named after a Jimothy Timothy,” and JT has to throw a glove at him. 

JT does give them a reason, and Mikko gives them another. Cale might have thought winning 6-2 was something, winning in OT is even better. The Pepsi Center sings, and they sing for them. 

When Cale gets back to his hotel room, Ryan’s waiting for him by the door. 

He’s lounging against the doorframe, in a backwards snapback that says Hart City and a shirt that says Tyson. He looks comfortable, and he’s holding two paper bags under his arm. 

“Hey babe.” Cale says, so bone tired from OT that every step feels like a challenge, but Ryan is presenting a good destination. 

“Howdy.” Ryan greets back, shaking the bags. “I brought burgers. I got you more than one. Thought you’d need it.” 

Cale could kiss him, so he does. He collapses in Ryan’s arms pulling him down into a lazy, affectionate kiss.

“Can’t stay up too late,” Cale says mournfully, running a hand up and down Ryan’s back. “Have a plane to catch.” 

Ryan smiles against him and shrugs. “That’s fine. Cuddling is dope, right?” 

“Cuddling is dope.” Cale laughs. 

They clear all the hotel paraphernalia off the table and Cale picks fries from Ryan’s container, even though he has his own. Ryan’s limbs are tucked awkwardly under the table, a little too big for his seat, but he looks loose and relaxed, and he chuckles every time Cale steals a fry, so Cale sticks his courage to the sticking place. 

“So, one of my teammates asked about us.” Cale tries, and Ryan’s eyes widen a little. Ryan’s eyes are perpetually kind of wide, Cale is figuring out, and he does look a little wary, but not in an angry way. “I told him you were my boyfriend. Is that okay?” 

Ryan gets even paler, and Cale didn’t even know that was possible. He licks his lips, and chuckles nervously. “We’ve known each other for three days, Cale.” Ryan says gently, and something in Cale’s chest twists. “I don’t really know you. You really don’t know me.” 

“I want to know you! I want you to know me!” Cale exclaims, heart heavy in his chest. Ryan smiles skittishly at him. There’s something tucked in behind it, inscrutable. “Ask me a question.” 

“What question?” 

Cale rolls his eyes. “What’s my favorite movie?” 

Ryan blinks, but recites it dutifully. 

“Dude, Where’s My Car.” Cale rattles off the answer, and Ryan raises an eyebrow at him. “Fans wouldn’t stop making jokes at Worlds, and we all watched it together, and then they started making jokes.” He colors a little as he gives the answer, but it teases another, more genuine smile out of Ryan. “What’s your favorite movie?” 

“Shawshank.” Ryan says, automatically. “Get busy living.” 

“Or get busy dying.” Cale responds, to another smile. “My dad, Taylor, and I would watch that movie all the time.” 

“Mine too.” Ryan tells him. “My dad and I, I mean. I don’t have a Taylor. We didn’t have a lot of places to rent video, back in Y—back where I grew up. Too small a town. But we always had Shawshank.” 

“We should watch it.” Cale says hurriedly. “I can make time to watch it.” Ryan looks at him, another inscrutable expression in his wide, warm eyes. 

“Okay.” He pushes off his chair, strides over to Cale, and leans over the table to kiss him. “You can call me your boyfriend, if you want to.” Ryan says, and Cale almost knocks over the chair trying to get his arms around him. 

They fall asleep watching the movie, wrapped up in each other, without it even devolving into handjobs, which Cale thinks is particularly mature of himself. It’s not long enough to qualify as sleep more than a long nap, really. For once, Cale wakes up before Ryan, to the soft trilling of his alarm telling him to get ready for the flight to Calgary. He kisses Ryan’s temple as he extracts himself slowly from the mess of his limbs. 

“I’ve gotta go, babe.” Cale murmurs into the soft skin of Ryan’s neck. “Plane time.” Ryan makes a soft noise, grabbing for his warmth, but Cale has to pull away. 

He packs up his stuff quietly, responding to a few texts from the guys: Barrie winning out to drive him to the airport, EJ warning him about how that meant he’d have to be in a car with a grumpy, sleep-deprived Nathan MacKinnon, Colin’s general team wake up text of sunrise emojis that meant nothing because the sun was still down and the rest of the team roasting him for that. 

Before he leaves, Cale writes a note on the hotel stationary. 

_We watch my movie when I get back <3 - C._

He closes the door as quietly as he can, giving one last look to the beautiful boy in his bed. He’ll get back to him with plenty of time to spare, Cale promises that. 

//

He gets a seat near the back of the plane, next to Sam. They both think the coaching staff is trying to pair them together, which would be nice, or familiar at least. Sam gives him the other controller to his Switch and they play Overcooked with EJ from the other side of the plane. It’s a good distraction from getting on his fourth plane in as many days to play what could be a series deciding playoff game in his hometown. 

There’s a bit of a delay getting everyone in—Gravy was late getting ready, apparently, which is weird for someone who isn’t even playing—but it gives Cale some time to learn the rules. Not that there’s any amount of time that would help with EJ’s chirping. 

“MAKAR! THE PLATES!” EJ hollers across the plane, much to the consternation of Nate, who groans. “Hobey Baker my ass! Can’t even bake a salad!” 

EJ starts getting belligerent, and louder, which sets Nate off enough to start smacking him with his neck pillow, and Sam takes that as his cue to turn off the game to calm everyone down. All in all, Cale had been on worse plane rides. Sammy bundles up in a big fluffy blanket with horses on it that he refuses to share--a gift from EJ, apparently. 

Cale takes the opportunity to take his phone off airplane mode and on the plane’s wifi, immediately getting a text from Ryan, marked not long from when Cale left him. 

_Ryan: We didn’t even finish watching my movie :/_

_Cale: we watch some of my movie and fall asleep and then we’ll go back to yours_

_Cale starts to stow his phone away again, but he gets a reply unexpectedly._

_Ryan: That’s a unique way of watching movies :)_

_Cale: i’m a unique guy_ 😉

_Ryan: Ever since I met you ;D_

Cale smiles at Ryan’s old-fashioned, typed out emoticons—he wonders, vaguely, if Ryan can even see his emojis or if they’re just boxes, but he’s like an app developer, so that’d be weird--and leans his head back in his chair. 

_Cale: i miss you already_ 😢

_Ryan: You’ll have me back before you know it ;)_

Ryan’s winking faces might be weird and old-fashioned, but Cale’s suddenly very aware of the fact that he’s had sex twice in as many days, and his dick is protesting the fact that he didn’t get to have any before he left. He thinks about Ryan, spread out and waiting for him, after beating his childhood team in own hometown. The cold, conditioned air bristles on his thighs, and his cock slowly stirs in his shorts. Sam is still sound asleep next to him, and one of the other guys near the front has the light of his phone on, but most everyone else seems asleep or otherwise distracted.

Impulsively, Cale grabs the thin airplane blanket and lays it over his legs to serve as a barrier between him and Sam. The lighting is objectively awful, but it’s enough to get the outline of his dick, hard against his thigh. 

_Cale: Other parts of me miss you too_ 😏

_Ryan: You’re a menace_

_Cale: yeah but you’re into it_

_Ryan: :P_

It takes a minute or so, but Ryan sends a picture. It’s clearly taken in one of the hotel bathrooms, and Ryan is flexing a little in the low light. He’s too tall naturally to get all of himself in the picture, but it results in a very nice angle of his cock, hard against his flushed abs. There’s a filter slapped on, to make it artful, but it’s almost as good as the real thing. Cale grips himself under the blanket, rolling his palm over the shaft of his cock.

 _Cale: i was thinking when i get back_ 🤔

_Cale: if the series is over_

_Cale: you could finally try fucking me?_

There’s a noise up front of someone dropping something and scrambling to pick it up, which makes Cale pull the blanket up tighter over his lap, but no one around him seems to stir. 

_Ryan: You think you can handle that?_

_Cale: that’s why i want a few days off_

_Cale: so you can fuck me as hard as you want_

_Cale: for as long as you want_

_Ryan: Gosh_

_Cale: i want to give your big cock what it deserves baby_

_Ryan: I’d give it to you like you deserve_

_Ryan: Give it to you until you can’t get out of bed all day_

_Ryan: Take care of you so you don’t have to_

_Cale: i want you to lay me out until i can’t remember my own name_

Cale’s cock is straining through his shorts, pulsing where he palms at it, and he’s debating on whether Sammy’s small enough to sneak past and take care of himself in the bathroom when there’s the noise of someone getting up and heading to the bathroom near the front of the plane. 

There’s nothing from Ryan for a few minutes, almost enough time for Cale to catch his breath, when another picture comes in. Cale’s eyes widen. It’s another picture of Ryan’s dick against his abs, but this time there’s the unmistakable pearly white of his come slick over his stomach.

Cale’s about to respond when another burst of noise comes from the front, this time loud enough to stir Sammy, who shifts in his seat. Cale quickly closes out his messages. Barrie is cursing, and someone else is apologizing, trying to rearrange things in the aisle. 

“Watch where you’re going, will you Gravy?” Barrie groan carries over the plane, voice thick with sleep. “Everyone on this team is too fucking big.” 

Cale settles himself then, pulls the blanket all the way over himself, and stows his phone. 

He jerks off in the hotel bathroom at the first opportunity, and sends a picture back to Ryan. 

// 

There’s something different about coming into Calgary as an invader. His phone is flooded with texts as soon as he lands, friends and family, people Cale has known all his life wishing him good luck and telling him the Flames will crush them in the same breath.

_Taylor: i cant believe ur making me a traitor_

_Cale: you’ve always been a traitor to this family_

_Taylor: fuck u_

Attached, his brother sends him a picture of himself in an Avs third jersey, the Makar emblazoned proudly on the back. Without thinking, he screenshots it and sends it to Ryan. 

_Cale: !!!_

_Cale: my bro’s wearing my jersey!_ 😂😂 

_Ryan: :D :D :D_

_Ryan: Of course he is you’re the tops_

Cale’s in his hometown, playing playoff hockey, with a chance to clinch the series against the division leader. When he imagined it as a kid, he was on the other side of it, showing the city he loved what he could do. 

A week ago, he was in Buffalo, losing the Frozen Four, and that all seems like a lifetime away.

He’s got his family in the stands, even his brother turning against the Flames for him. He’s got a team that welcomed him with open arms, and a city that loved him back. He’s got a boyfriend waiting to welcome him home. 

Sammy comes out of the shower with a text from EJ telling them to get their asses in the lobby for team dinner, and Cale settles the want warm in his chest.

He wants to burn his hometown down, and show them exactly what they could do. 

So they show them, and they show them, and they show them. 

Cale only gets on the scoresheet once, helping out Mikko, but he throws himself into every play, slipping past defenders and shrugging off hits like they’re nothing. He skates with purpose, with vigor, all for a sea of red interrupted by a three seat run of burgundy and blue. 

Colin gets one in and tips another, and Mikko finishes them off on the power play, and it’s hard not to jump out onto the ice right there. 

Cale’s in his third NHL game, and they’ve just beaten the division leaders, taking the Avalanche farther than they’ve been in more than a decade. 

Cale is giddy and punch drunk, draped around Sammy’s shoulders as they head back to their hotel room. He misses Ryan terribly, but he must be working or away from his phone or something because his texts come staggered if at all, and when he does get them they’re mostly Ryan’s typed out emoticons slightly off-kilter. 

On their way back, Barrie pulls them into someone else’s room. It looks like the entire team is in there, scratches and all, arranged around the hotel furniture and drinking copious amounts of alcohol set up on the table. EJ’s Switch is plugged into the TV and a bunch of the guys are somehow playing Smash despite the fact that they’re all in a heap on top of each other. 

“Barbs, make the rookie a drink!” EJ crows from his spot on the top of the pile, jabbing Gabe in the stomach with a sharp elbow, which makes him curse and gets Bowser to drop the assist trophy he’s holding. 

“What’s your poison?” Barbs asks cheerfully, sidling behind the makeshift bar. “I’ve been making all my own drinks since the last time I asked someone and they drank mine and disappeared without saying anything!” The last part is loud and pointed towards someone hidden by the boypile and the side of the couch. 

“I can’t drink.” Cale says, and Barbs snorts, clapping him on the back. 

“We’ll let you have one. If you try to sneak any more, Grub’ll tackle you, right Grub?” Grubi grunts affirmatively from where he’s having the Villager chop down a tree on someone’s head. Cale nods, with a slight smile, and Barbs returns it beaming. 

The drink he makes Cale is strong enough that the first sip makes Cale cough, but it’s good, and enough to get him a healthy buzz. 

“Settle an argument for us, Cale.” Barrie says, patting the arm of the couch for him to sit. Gabe rolls his eyes audibly from the other side of the couch. “Smash or pass Bowser?” Cale’s not entirely sure what he expected Barrie to say, but it wasn’t that. “These cowards—” 

“Just because we’re not all monsterfucking furries like you are, Brutes, doesn’t make us cowards.” Nate chimes in, not taking his eyes off of where Link is shooting arrows at Sven’s Wii Fit Trainer. Barrie turns bright red. 

“These cowards won’t engage with a simple academic exercise.” Barrie continues hurriedly. “You went to college, you can—” 

“We went to college,” All three members of Rookie House say at once, as EJ comes in with: “Stop talking like you went to college, idiot.” 

Cale colors a little, the alcohol a warm burn up his neck. “I mean he’s pretty big, so, smash?” He says hesitantly. Barrie looks triumphant. There’s a choking noise from the other side of the couch, behind Big Z, and one of the drinks laid precariously on the arm of the couch falls off with a splash and an indignant whine from Gabe, at the same time as Chrom on-screen, gets launched into the blast zone by Pichu. 

“Suck it Gravy!” Josty hollers, and the person behind the couch stands up, patting their wet shirt over their abs. 

“Okay, I’m out,” They say, with a honking laugh that’s almost familiar, and they hurry towards the bathroom without a glance at Cale. 

Cale blinks, and blinks again. That was Gravy. Josty had said Gravy was tall, and dark, and probably his type, and Cale didn’t get a good look, but he almost looked like— 

Cale shakes his head. Barbs’ drink must be even stronger than he thought. He’s tipsy, and he’s just won a playoff series, and he misses his boyfriend, a plane ride away in an entirely different hotel in Denver, nowhere near Calgary. 

“Okay, smash or pass Lucario?” Barrie says, and Gabe throws his empty drink cup at him. Cale grimaces and stares at his own drink for a second before chugging it, patting the bottom of the cup to drink up every drop. 

It’s impossible anyway, he thinks. Ryan wears glasses. 

// 

As soon as they get back to Denver, Bednar takes Cale aside and tells him he should find somewhere to live other than the hotel. Part of him is relieved, honored by the trust they have in him. His family would rather he live with an established guy with kids of his own, to keep him people, and Cale kind of agrees that he wouldn’t mind living with the Calverts and not having to look entirely after himself for a while but—

He doesn’t know how he’s going to tell Ryan. 

Cale’s got one more night in the hotel, and he thinks he’ll make it a special one. He buys some more lube, and some bigger condoms, and some candles for good measure. They smell like Champagne Rose, and that feels romantic. If he’s got one more night here with Ryan, he might as well make it romantic as shit. He’s setting everything up when there’s a knock on the door. 

The man at the other end has slicked back hair and close-kept stubble, and a smile like he’s got a secret. He’s handsome, in an easy sort of way, though he does look a bit peaky. “Sup,” says the man. “I’m Derrick. Call me Brass. We’re going to a baseball game.” 

Cale blinks. “Brass?” He repeats. “Everyone said you were dead.” 

Brass smiles at him cheekily. “Gonna take a lot more than that to kill me.” He flicks a finger gun at Cale. “C’mon, we’ve gotta collect Gravy.” 

Cale glances at his preparations, the unlit candles spread haphazardly around the bed. Ryan held weird schedules anyway, and he could afford to go to a baseball game for team bonding. Plus, some suspicious little part of him wants to properly meet Gravy, if only to say he actually has. Cale nods, and follows Brass down the hallway. 

Brass chatters for a bit, instantly personable, explaining how Barbs had the tickets at first, JT and Josty were coming and dragging Kammy, but Kerf had skipped out to watch the Nuggets game with his girlfriend. Cale finds himself at ease around Brass, letting him dominate the conversation as they turn the corner round the ice room and towards the longer term suites. Brass skids to a stop, and Cale slows behind him, hands in his pockets. 

Brass knocks twice, hollering for Gravy, and Cale’s boyfriend opens the door, blinking owlishly. 

He’s wearing his glasses, and has a Rockies shirt on, and that’s Ryan, tall and exquisitely crafted. This close up, and completely sober, Cale can’t deny it. 

“You’ve met Ryan, right?” Brass says, in case he’s confused, which he very much is. “Say hi, Gravy.” 

“Hi Gravy.” Cale says instead, his voice a little strained. 

“Hey Cale.” Ry—Gravy says, quiet and small. 

Okay, Cale thinks. So, Cale thinks. Ryan Graves. Ryan is Gravy. Gravy is Ryan. 

What the fuck.

//

JT and Josty show up to pick them up, and Cale’s stuck in the backseat with Gravy. His long limbs fit awkwardly into the space, and their thighs press together in a way that would be appealing if Cale wasn’t completely freaking out right now. 

Gravy’s not saying anything, despite the fact that there’s probably a lot to say, and Cale has no idea how to start. How do you ask your boyfriend if they were aware—and Cale realizes now, how aware Gravy was—that they’ve been your teammate this entire time? 

Kerf’s not here, but Cale can hear him say it nonetheless: Gravy lies. 

He lies, and he lies, and he lies. He flashes a pretty smile at you and doesn’t mention the fact that he knows exactly who you are. He keeps everything at arm’s length, lets you think he’s just some abnormally good-looking app developer who keeps weird hours writing software. He plays with your heart, like some kind of game, over and over again. 

Cale tries to stare at the window, ignoring the weight of Gravy’s gaze on the back of his neck. His fists clench at his sides, and he wants to scream, but he won’t give him the satisfaction. 

Cale picks the seat next to Barbs pointedly, keeping JT, Josty, and Kammy between them. He’s pretty sure Barbs and JT know something’s up, that there’s an awkward tension in the air at least, and Josty keeps glancing between the two of them obviously. Brass and Kammy, for their parts, have no idea anything is happening and keep the game chatter going pretty well. Cale’s played a little baseball, but he’s kind of fuzzy on some of the rules after so long, so Barbs is good at explaining things to him. 

Gravy keeps looking at him. Cale keeps his eyes glued to the game, shoveling popcorn into his mouth to bite off everything he wants to say. 

Brass buys a drink from the vendor walking around the stands, and asks Cale to hand it to him. Cale feels punchy, vindictive. He grabs the soda, shakes it twice, three times and gets up. He nudges past JT, Kammy, and Josty, and moves to wrap around Gravy to give the drink to Brass. Instead, he points the bottle at Gravy, finally meets his eye, and twists the cap.

Gravy sputters and Brass yelps as soda bursts from the bottle, exploding cold and sticky over Cale’s hands, but more importantly all over Gravy’s shirt, soaking into his pants and his hair. His eyes are stupidly wide behind his glasses, hurt and surprised. 

“Oh, shit, my bad.” Cale says, deadpan, twisting the cap closed on what’s left of the dripping bottle. “Hang on,” he says to Brass. “I’ll get you another drink.” Everyone else gapes at him. He flags down the vendor again, frowning a little as Gravy gets himself up and runs out of the stands and into the arena proper to clean himself up. 

“Hey, what the fuck was that?” Barbs asks as Cale sits back down, handing Brass his drink normally this time. He sounds a little defensive, and Cale remembers a little too late that Barbs and Gravy are supposedly partners. 

“Maybe you should go help him?” Josty asks, his brow furrowed. 

“Maybe you should clean yourself up.” JT adds gruffly. Cale stares down at his own hands, sticky-sweet with soda, seeping down towards his arms. Cale sighs, and pushes himself out of the seat. With any luck, Gravy had gone to another bathroom, or to charm some other innocent young defenseman to get off or something. 

No such luck, as there he is at the sinks when Cale walks into the bathroom, trying miserably to clean himself off. He looks up at Cale when he takes the spot at the other end of the sinks, glaring at him. 

“What the heck, Cale?” Gravy asks, and the hiss of it stings against his skin. Cale grimaces, rolling his eyes. 

“I should be the one asking that, Ryan. When were you going to tell me we were teammates?” 

Gravy scoffs, running a wet hand through his hair, disheveled for once in his life. “I told you, more than once. You kept thinking it was a metaphor.” 

“You kept saying it like it was a metaphor!” Cale growls. “You had so many more chances, you could have gone up to me, you didn’t have to lie to me just because you love lying or whatever—” 

“I was scared, okay?!” Gravy says, his voice echoing around the concrete of the bathroom. There’s a crack to his voice, a fissure in his armor that Cale has the urge to rip apart with both hands. “You were so much, so into this guy you thought I was, I didn’t want you to—” 

“Figure out you were lying to me the whole time?” Cale snarls. He swipes through the stream of water, sending droplets hurtling through the air. “Are those glasses even real?” 

Ryan’s glasses glint in the fluorescent light. “What?”

“How do you play with them on?” Cale clarifies, setting his jaw out defiantly. 

Gravy blinks at him. “I take the glasses off.” He says slowly, like Cale’s stupid. 

“You wouldn’t be able to see.” Cale counters. 

“I wear contacts on the ice, geez!” Gravy groans, and Cale rolls his eyes. His hands grip tight against the edge of the sink.

“Well, looks like you’re not good enough to ever get to play with me, so maybe I get why you fucking lied about it.” Cale says, aiming to hurt. The blow lands, like a sharp, sprawling check in open ice. Gravy looks at him, eyes impossibly wide. 

“Fuck you, Makar.” Gravy says. He slams the water off and storms out of the bathroom, leaving Cale alone without another look back. 

When he gets back to the seats, Gravy is gone, having said something about going home to clean himself up. 

It’s not nearly as satisfying as Cale thought it would be.

//

He deletes Ryan’s number off his phone, and throws the candles in the garbage. 

It’s stupid, he knows. He’ll have to interact with him sometime—they’re teammates, apparently—but Cale’s still determined to be petty. He calls Calvy, asks him if they’ve got the room ready, and they do. 

Cale packs everything up quickly. He doesn’t have a lot to begin with, everything about his life in Denver fitting neatly in one suitcase. He goes down to the lobby to turn in his key, and some scraps of paper peek out of his wallet. 

Cale realizes what they are immediately: the notes Ryan had left him, one signed with a heart. 

He holds them in his palm, feeling numb, and he wonders whether he should crush them in his hand or find somewhere to throw them away. Before he can, he gets a text from Calvy saying he’s coming up to the hotel, and Cale shoves the notes back into his wallet carelessly. 

Calvy offers to help him with his luggage, but Cale just has the one that he throws in the back, and he settles in the front seat. 

“Sorry about the mess,” Calvy says, gesturing the all the strewn toys and snack crumbs around the backseat. “We got you a little short notice.” 

“It’s fine,” Cale says, because it is. “I’m just glad to be out of that hotel.”

Calvy smiles at him, and it’s a short drive to his place. There’s a wagon out in the yard, and waiting in the front is Courtney, baby clutched to her chest and a toddler gripping at her leg. Instantly, the place looks lived in, a far cry from the sterility and impersonality of the hotel.

Cale tries to shake Courtney’s hand, but she pulls him into a warm half-hug with her and the baby, Kasey. “We’re all glad to have you here, Cale.” She says, and Cale knows she means it. 

He kneels down to meet the eyes of the three year old, who buries his head in his mother’s pant leg. “Hey little dude. You’re Beau, right?” Cale greets him, giving him a warm, crinkly eyed smile. “I hear you’re a beast at mini-sticks.” Cale says, and at that Beau peeks his head out curiously, intent on leading Cale towards his mini-sticks collection. 

Calvy and Courtney nod at him to go, and he hears them laugh as he follows Beau further into the house he’ll be living in for the foreseeable future. There’s something warm, and comforting, and real about it, knowing where he’s welcome. 

//

Cale starts seeing Gravy at practice, now that he’s got no reason to hide. 

Gravy skates with a grace that his size masks, puts himself into plays like he’s got nothing to lose. Cale finds himself wanting to compliment him on it, but every time they meet each other’s eyes, Gravy wrenches his away. 

Cale knows he shouldn’t be so torn up about this. He knew Ryan for a week, at most, and he didn’t even really know him, no matter how much he wanted to. Ryan was a lie, a fiction, a dream for a boy who’s been handed too many dreams to ever be fair already. 

All he knows about Gravy is that he lies, and it shouldn’t hurt to face that truth. 

“Are you all right, Makars?” Sammy says, hip checking him gently as he sidles up next to him. He’s been skating with Cale for a few days now, gliding on his skates as effortlessly as Cale remembers him, maybe even moreso. 

“I’m fine. How ‘bout you?” Cale responds, almost by rote. Sam raises an eyebrow at him. 

“That is bullshit, Makars.” Sam says, melodically, poking Cale in the chest. He points a thumb towards Gravy. “You have trouble, with Gravy?” 

“None, it’s fine—” Cale tries to lie, but he feels like he’s under a headlamp with Sam’s bright, inquisitive eyes staring right into his soul. Cale slumps against the boards, and lets the weight fall off his shoulders. “It’s hard to explain. I thought I liked him. I did like him. But I didn’t know what it is that I liked in the first place.” 

Sam rolls his eyes and curses under his breath. “English is too confusing. You like Gravy, you like him. Even if he tries to fake everything about himself, he is still him.” Sam glances towards another corner of the ice, where EJ is skating circles around Gabe in an attempt to snow his hair just so. “If he likes you, you find what is real.” 

“Dude, when did you get so wise?” 

“I’m not wise, Makars.” Sammy says, deadpan. “You are just kind of dumb.” 

Cale can’t really argue with that.

//

Cale’s learning something about playoffs. They can drag on forever, or they can be over in an instant, and all you can do is play through. That week with Ryan felt like it could have lasted forever, and the weeks without him pass by in the blink of an eye. 

They scrape and they fight they stay even, defiant at every moment. Calvy gets hurt, sacrificing every bit of himself just for Nate to get an empty net, and Cale has to sit with the boys when he cries out in the night and Courtney runs herself ragged trying to soothe the pain just a little. 

At night he lays wide awake, trying to chase away the ache in his bones, the gnawing, selfish want of his heart. 

It’s down to Game 6 in the Pepsi Center, and despite JT’s dazzling efforts they’re back in OT. Cale pushes the want to devour the pain, and sees the opening in the clumsy sluggishness of a broken play. Every bit of him screams, and the Pepsi Center sings. He lobs it in from the point, and he wants, and he wants—

Gabe tips it in, and they’re going to Game 7.

After, he sees Gravy, immaculate in his game day suit, smiling at him across the locker room, and he wants so badly it’s terrifying. 

// 

Gravy finds him in the vending machine room in a hotel in San Jose. He’s sitting on the floor, slumped up against the ice machine, holding an ice bucket in his lap. He’s tapping an anxious rhythm into the linoleum, the haunting drumbeat of possibility.

“I got your note.” Gravy says carefully, showing him a flash of hotel stationary. He’d slipped it under Gravy’s door, and it only took him a few minutes to find it. “Did you want to yell at me again? You can if it makes you feel better.” 

“No, I—” Cale looks at Gravy, hair tucked behind his glasses in the perfect spot Cale knows just where to kiss. His voice is strained and shot through with anxiety, with the haggard weight of the world on his shoulders. “I want you to lie to me.”

“What?”

Cale sloshes the ice around in the bucket, and stares up at Gravy. “You’re the best liar I know. Tell me we can do this. Tell me we can win this series.” 

Gravy laughs, running a hand through his hair. He stares back at Cale with those wide, brown eyes. Cale knows what those eyes look like when he’s coming, and that’s not a lie, at least. “Is that really all you want?” 

“I figure, after everything, you owe me a lie when I ask for it.” Cale says curtly. Gravy nods, and takes a deep breath. 

“No, I don’t think you can do it.” Gravy lies, and Cale knows it now, the shine of his eyes when he’s lying. “You’re not going to win anything.” 

Cale smiles at him, lightly, and upends the ice bucket over his own head. The cold falls over him, seeps into his shirt and under his skin. He shivers as the cold hits all the empty space between his ribs, and smiles wider, pushing himself up. 

“Geez!” Gravy exclaims, taking a step towards him. “Why are you always doing this?” Gravy asks, more enraptured than anything. 

Cale stands up, ice cascading from his shoulders onto the floor. He walks up to Gravy, wraps a hand in his collar, and pulls him down into a kiss, the warmth of him breaking through the sting of ice against his lips. “You were never as good a liar as either of us thought you were, huh?” Cale murmurs, running a hand over the wide expanse of Gravy’s back. He kisses him deeply, reacquainting himself into the seam of a mouth that could never lie to him with Cale’s tongue down his throat. 

An ice cube slides over the small of his back, and Cale shivers to bat it down, and pulls away. 

“I’m sorry for saying those shitty things to you.” Cale admits, running a thumb over the hollow of Gravy’s cheek. “The way you skate—I really want to play with you.” 

“Cale, I’m sorry too, I—” Cale stops him with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“After the game.” Cale says, and Gravy nods. 

Cale walks back to his hotel room, still dripping, and Sammy gapes at him as soon as he walks in. “Why are you wet, Makars?” He asks, cautiously. 

“Made up with Gravy. Kind of.” Cale says.

Sammy rolls his eyes. “Finally.” He says, and he throws a towel at Cale’s head. 

// 

They lose Game 7, on an awful offsides call, or a run of luck that runs out, or how they all watch Nate stumble out to the locker room and come back arm limp and dead eyed and know in their hearts that they wouldn’t let him kill himself to win this game. 

Cale’s want dulls in his chest, but part of him is kind of relieved. 

He finds Gravy in the hallway after the game, still in his game day suit, red eyed and as dejected as the rest of them. Cale wonders what it’s like, sitting in the press box, helpless no matter how many of them go down. He wonders if it might be worse than sitting on that bench. 

He sits down next to him, bracketing their shoulders together, running one hand over the tight fabric of his thigh. “You were supposed to lie to me, you know.” Cale says. 

Gravy looks at him, brushing his shoulder where Cale touches like he can’t believe he’s here. “I’ve been trying not to do that nowadays. Sorry I couldn’t pull off one last one for you.” 

Cale shrugs, and smiles back at him. “Ask me a question.” There’s a catch in his voice, a longing deep and endless. 

“What question?” Gravy asks, eyes wonderfully wide. 

“Ask me if we can start over.” 

“Can we start over?” He asks, hoping beyond hope, wanting beyond want. 

Cale grasps Ryan’s hand in his, and squeezes his palm. “My name is Cale Makar, like the vegetable, but with a C.” 

Ryan smiles, fluttering and beautiful from ear to ear, and there can’t be anything less than genuine about that. “My name is Ryan Graves. Call me Gravy, like the sauce.” 

“Nice to meet you, Ryan Graves.” Cale says, leaning forward to press their foreheads together, hooking his hand around Ryan’s wrist to link their pulse points. 

“Nice to meet you, Cale Makar.” Ryan says, and he angles his chin up to kiss him, bright, and warm, and entirely real. 

The first thing Cale Makar learns about Ryan Graves is that he lies. 

The second thing Cale Makar learns about Ryan Graves is, he tries anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> gravy, throughout this whole fic: i'm going to do it i'm going to tell him the truth  
> also gravy: [lies] 🤥 
> 
> some things:  
> \- gravy doesn't lie to cale anymore but he may still actually be a time traveler from the 1930s, jury's still out on that  
> \- cale finally gets to have his Romantic Bottoming Adventure™ when the calverts go on vacation but his fancy love-making candles set a curtain on fire and they have to track down a replacement for courtney's family curtains from the 1800s  
> \- tyson did make the sign gabe brought to pick cale up the first time--gabe wanted to have a nice, bedazzled sign, but tyson knocked glitter glue all over the first one while they were making out and they had to improvise  
> \- josty learns how to bake with plantains just to flex on kerf and jt just enjoys eating the fruits of their feud  
> \- when cale finally tells sammy what happened with ryan, sam just tells the story about how ej was catfishing him for months and gravy doesn't seem nearly so bad 
> 
> peace, check me out on [tumblr](https://samgirard.tumblr.com)


End file.
